Endless Cycle
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Bullying is an endless cycle, until somebody is brave enough to break the chain.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 **Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition**

 _Holyhead Harpies, Beater 1_

 **Mandatory Prompt** \- Beater's Bat - Write about a Bully

 **Optional Prompts** \- Defeated, Disappointment, Grass-stain.

 **Note -** I played a little bit with the timeline of certain canon elements.

 _Massive thanks to Amber and Liza for beta'ing._

* * *

 **Endless Cycle**

* * *

It started almost immediately. The first year Slytherins were jostling for title of top dog, with glares and hurtful words being slung around like the harshest weapons - which for a bunch of eleven year olds, they probably were.

Marcus hung back from the fights, happy to be middling, hoping in a way to just be forgotten. Being forgotten at home would have been a Merlin sent blessing; it wasn't a luxury he'd ever been afforded.

Of course, his hopes were discarded, when Terence Higgs, the smallest but smartest of the first years, decided to target him as the weak link, the best way to stop himself being the runt of the litter.

In a fit of anger, Marcus had swung before thinking, knocking the smaller boy to the floor. Standing in the corridor, watching the blood seep from Terence's nose, Marcus felt a dawning understanding of his father.

His father hit him, he beat him, verbally tore him apart and Marcus had never understood why, but now, his eyes fixed on the crimson river of the boy on the floor, Marcus felt powerful in a way he never had before.

He felt fierce. He felt taller. He felt stronger.

And he felt understanding.

…

Charms had never been Marcus' strong point. He didn't understand the intricate wand movements, didn't care that the slightest wrong intonation would bring about a disaster. He hated the essays, the confusing texts they were forced to read, and he hated Professor Flitwick.

The ever cheerful half Goblin was forever looking at him with disappointment in his bright eyes.

"I know you can do better than this, Mr Flint."

Marcus had never despised a sentence as much as he did that one. He always knew it was coming, every time he was the last in the class to pick up a spell, the last to understand a term that others seemed to find easily graspable.

With a swish of his wand, Flitwick sent the previous homework essays out to the students, and Marcus, with a deep breath, unrolled his own.

A **P** marred the top of the parchment.

He wasn't surprised. Angry, no doubt, because as much effort as he tried to put into the gruelling classwork, he never seemed to match up to the standards set. A hand on his arm, followed by the words he dreaded only worsened his mood.

"I know you can do better than this, Mr Flint. You should try harder."

Marcus nodded jerkily, letting go of the essay parchment and watching it spring back into the perfect roll. He stuffed it uncaringly into his bag, trying not to listen to his classmates compare their marks. Exceeds Expectations and Outstandings; those were the whispers that seemed loudest to his ears as he packed away the rest of his things.

Standing to leave the classroom, he happened to look up at the wrong moment. Percy Weasley was passing by his desk, the ever smug look on his face only exacerbating Marcus' fury.

"I got an Outstanding - again," Percy said to his classmate as they passed.

His bag on his shoulder, Marcus followed the Gryffindor from the classroom, his wand held tightly in his hand, hidden in the folds of his robes.

As soon as he had a clear shot, he smirked grimly to himself and pulled the wand clear.

" _Redactum Skullus_ ," he murmured, his smirk widening to a grin as the hex met its mark. It was a favourite of his, a hex to shrink the head of the target. He put his wand away and continued walking, speeding up slightly.

Passing Percy, he said, "Thought you might need a little help shrinking that big head you've got, Weasley."

Anger abated, he set off on the familiar path to the dungeons - he had a Potions class to get to.

…

"How does it feel, not being chosen as Captain… again?" Wood sneered as Marcus rounded the Gryffindor hoops. Wood's badge was in the center of his chest, pride of place.

Marcus tried not to let it distract him, he wouldn't give Wood what he wanted.

"How does it feel to need to rely on a first year for a Seeker?" he replied airily, before flying away to get himself into position, just as Montague tossed the Quaffle his way.

Twisting on his broom, he tossed the Quaffle to the far right hoop, gritting his teeth when Wood saved it with an arrogant grin.

Grabbing the Beater's bat from Warrington's hand, Marcus sent a Bludger straight into the Keeper's gut, a wave of satisfaction sweeping over him as the Gryffindor fell from his broom, landing on the ground a few seconds later with a loud thump.

He'd be in for a telling off later he knew, but in that moment, it was worth it.

...

"Captain Flint!" Pucey crowed as the Slytherin team put their robes on. "How does it feel to be the boss?"

Flint smirked, his captain badge glinting in the sunlight filtering through the window. "Get ready, Pucey, we've got to get onto the pitch before Wood and his merry band of muppets. I got a note from Snape in order to train Malfoy, but you know that Wood is going to explode regardless."

"Always a sight to see," Montague chuckled, picking up the beautiful new broom they'd all been gifted with from Draco's father.

Bribe was such a dirty word, after all.

As they marched onto the pitch, they were met with an already steaming from the ears Wood, and an equally angry looking squad behind him.

As they exchanged words, Marcus couldn't help but enjoy himself. Riling Oliver Wood was certainly one of his favourite pastimes, and the look of jealousy on the Gryffindor's faces when they noticed the brooms was certainly something he wished he'd had a camera for.

He was brought down to earth when the Mudblood piped up. He'd worked goddamn hard for his spot on the Quidditch team, and while she was certainly talking about Malfoy, the comment still stung.

As he opened his mouth to tell her to keep her mouth shut, Malfoy got their first. Watching the little girl's eyes well with tears, Marcus felt a brief stab of remorse, but he shoved it away as he jeered with his fellow students, closing rank around their seeker before the red headed demons could get their hands on him.

The icing on the cake was the youngest Weasley boy cursing himself to puke slugs, but later that evening, Marcus' couldn't get the girls face out of his mind. The genuine hurt and shock stuck with him, and he wondered for the first time if he was wrong to want to be powerful.

…

His final year at Hogwarts.

His final year as Quidditch Captain.

And they'd lost the cup.

Defeated, disappointed and furious, Marcus had egged his team on to do the unforgivable. Oliver Wood lay on the ground of the Quidditch pitch, grass-stains all over his clothes, his arm bent at an odd angle.

The betrayal in his eyes as he stared at Flint was painful to look at, hurting more because Marcus understood it. He'd been in that same position, many times, with his father looking down on him. Oliver hadn't expected such an attack.

It was brutal, because Marcus had never used others to get his revenge before.

He and Wood had always had a silent understanding; they hated each other, but they kept it clean. One against one. Captain against captain.

Marcus had broken that code, and as he watched his teammates congratulate each other on an ambush well done, he felt sick.

He was disgusting.


End file.
